


Memento Mori

by dollsome



Category: Dollhouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I preferred Arizona," Adelle says wanly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memento Mori

**Author's Note:**

> (Written for the [CRAZY] prompt: "DeWitt/Dominic: stranded at an old folks home during a torrential downpour". Which is why they are ... stranded at an old folks home during a torrential downpour. Not really their usual hangout.)

"I think I preferred Arizona," Adelle says wanly.

Mr. Dominic keeps his eyes trained on their game of checkers with admirable stoicism. "That's saying something."

"Indeed." She's going to lose again. This game is intolerable. Never again is she leaving the House as a courtesy, no matter how prestigious the client or how beloved his grandmother. Adelle supposes there is a certain romance in allowing an old woman to spend her last weeks with the cherished husband she lost nearly forty years before, but coming all this way to shake hands with -- well, you'll have heard of him, no doubt, but discretion is essential in her line of work -- why, she doesn't know what possessed her. Boredom is the most likely culprit.

And now this damned storm. Boredom certainly doesn't show any signs of leaving her in peace anytime soon.

"I think I've had enough, Mr. Dominic, thank you," she says, pushing the checkerboard back with decisive fingertips.

"Game's almost done," Mr. Dominic says; she can detect a flash of rather playful irritation underneath his usual even tones.

"And I've no doubt you would've beat me soundly," Adelle says, and adds, under her breath, "Yet again."

Mr. Dominic smirks very slightly.

"Care for a walk?" she offers, and he nods.

They stroll the corridor, looking austere and elegant, altogether out of place in their black coats. Her heels seem uncommonly loud against the floor. All around them, old age: quiet and shrinking and harmless, profoundly depressing. She feels almost guiltily aware of her own body. Still upright and obedient, still graceful, not at all unattractive. You always hear how quickly the time slips by. Right out from between your fingers. (And here she is, ever approaching forty, no family on this continent, no close friends to speak of. But very, very good at her job. Why be coy?: the best, really. Unburdened by the typical things, the things that make up most peoples' utterly ordinary lives. She has always striven rather higher.)

"The love letters," Adelle says. "The ones provided to ensure the imprint was as thorough as possible -- did you read any of them?"

"A few," Mr. Dominic says. He does not elaborate.

"Quite stirring." She glances at him; the glance is a little teasing. She wonders if he will react. He usually doesn't.

"They were young," Mr. Dominic says. Unflinching as ever. Bless him. "Kids in love -- it's pretty typical."

 _I wonder if you think of me as often as I think of you. I don't think you can. I don't think it's possible. I've become perfectly useless. It drives me crazy, Becs, thinking about you. All the places I've touched and all the places I haven't yet._

"Yes," Adelle says. "Quite."

They return to the lounge and checkers. He lets her win. A gallant little gesture -- one that might annoy her, under other circumstances. Today she is more obliging. She blames the love letters, which ghost through her head in half-remembered phrases. _All I want is to be kissing you, all the time. It's impractical but there it is. Let's make a whole life of it. What do you say?_

"Your turn," Mr. Dominic prompts.

She returns her eyes to the board. "Mmm. Yes."

"You all right?" he asks. Always so attentive. (Professionally; it goes without saying.) She briefly considers the quirk of his mouth. Funny, that those lips should belong to someone so serious. "You seem distracted."

"Just thinking," she says, and of course he does not ask _Of what?_

"That rain's still coming down hard," he says.

"Yes," she says, "one wonders if it will ever let up."


End file.
